For I Have Sinned
by LuigiGirl-22
Summary: Romeo&Juliet - Juliet's POV   "Remember, hatred never sleeps. It never closes its eyes, and never changes its mind. The only way that hatred can be eliminated is if something stronger than hate itself can come between it..."
1. Introductory Note: Read This First!

**Authoress's Note ~ Emily Gabrielle Fieldus**  
Being a huge fan of William Shakespeare's works, and being a fiction writer myself, I've had this idea ever since I read (and studied) one of his most famous masterpieces - _Romeo & Juliet_. Taking this famous classic too great for words and making a Point of View out of it, since writing in 1st Person is one of my main strengths is no easy task, I assure you. That's right – The idea I had was to write in Juliet's POV.  
Now, I'm aware this has most definitely been done before... Somehow, and somewhere. But this is something I wanted to take a shot at for myself, to see how good it would turn (or maybe not so good). I'm not writing this introductory to dedicate this to anyone. Rather, it's to inform my readers – old and new- of things that will be an important part of this piece of fanfiction.

1) The language that this is written in is modern, 20th century English - not 16th Century, as the play is written in. Yes, this is the English that you and I speak today. I left in some Elizabethan terms like "ay" (yes"), "nay", (no), "good morrow" (good morning)... This was just for a bit of a "classic" touch. I also decided to leave out contractions, for reasons I cannot really explain clearly. Modern touches were added, but still the same Story, Plot, and Characters.  
The Modern English (taken from the lines of the play itself, not scenes I have made up on my own) is taken from my own copy of _'No Fear Shakespeare's: Romeo & Juliet_". I did not make up the modern English on my own.

2) Scenes taken from the actual play will have (_Based on Act _, Scene __ ) written before the story continues. Scenes made up on my very own will not have this. I decided to add in my own scenes here and there just to "draw my audience in", instead of having them just "read the play in modern English with descriptions, feelings, reactions, etc...attached.

3) Song lyrics from particular songs will be posted after the Chapter Numbers, to fit what goes on and what takes place in each Chapter. Also, Chapters will be posted in Word _and_ Roman Numerals, along with a Chapter Title that associates with the events taking place or "feeling" of the overall events.

4) On the rare occasion, I will be leaving Juliet's Point of View and switching over to writing important scenes taken from the play in third person. (I have a feeling I will be doing this more often than I intend to…)  
This is to make sure the story flows more smoothly, instead of skipping from one vital event to the other, which, as I've already experimented with, looks very strange and doesn't seem to sit well with me.

5) I always do extensive research before doing any sort of writing. So, not only do I have to do my own research, but I also have to read the following scenes from the play that are included in each Chapter, record the lines down in Modern English, make sure I take the time to write it and do my best (and being a perfectionist, it's not easy), and also pay excessive attention to details – feelings and thoughts, moreso. Writing from the Point of View of a teenager who lived in the 16th Century isn't an easy task, I assure you. It was much more of a challenge then what it first appeared to be at a first glance.

On one last and final note, I have had mixed feelings about this project. I loved writing some scenes, and others I just had to push myself to get done. Yes, there is going to be some grammatical errors. Yes, there is going to be some things that may not sit well with you like they did with me. I humbly ask, although I am generally open for criticism, that you do not criticize this piece. I haven't worked harder on anything else.  
Overall, however, I hope you enjoy what is the result of my fingers working to their bones – regardless of the Act and Scene.  
Enjoy,  
~ _Emily Gabrielle._  
**Disclaimer: ****I own NOTHING from Romeo and Juliet. William Shakespeare does. Also, the song lyrics are property of their respecting artists.**


	2. One:  Abhorrence

**For I Have Sinned**  
[_Juliet's Point Of View_]  
[Based On _Romeo & Juliet_]

Written By _Emily G. Fieldus_

_**One ~ I**_  
-:- ~ **Abhorrence** ~ -:-

"_And we'll be carrying on, until the day it doesn't matter anymore;  
Step aside, you forgot what this is for,  
We fight to live, we live to fight…_" – _**Frontline**_-:- _Pillar._

* * *

My family and I, ever since I can remember, have lived in Verona, Italy our whole lives. My father met my mother through an arranged marriage that her parents had arranged without her own consent. My father proclaimed his wish to marry my mother without her even knowing, to which, her father complied, and with my mother obviously having no choice in the matter, the marriage had been performed. They were now married. My mother had become a Capulet, and, with a little over a year passing, my mother became pregnant with me.

If there is one thing I have always been raised around, it is hatred. But not the kind of hatred that breathes its corrosive breath towards the foolishness of your own errors, the arrogance and ignorance of an individual, or even the singing of the birds in the treetops that awakens someone from a deep slumber an hour too early.

It is hatred toward my name; my family. The way we live, talk, walk… anything, it is hated. But we are not hated by everyone, just a certain few - nay, many - named the Montagues.

I am the lone daughter, belonging to the House of Capulet. There is not another way to be so blunt about the subject, but it is a very vital point for me to make. Ay, it is nothing but a surname to you, but to me… It is the reason why I am hated. Loathed. Why these men and women of the House of Montague wish to erase the name 'Capulet' from existence.

I have the eyes of my father, and the asset of my mother. I don not really have the personality of either of them. Mother says I get my obedience and quiet nature from her, and I have received my smile from my father. Mother used to say I was blessed because I looked so graceful and elegant in dresses, like she, too, did when she was my age. When I was younger, but not _too_ young, mother would always talk about how I would please my husband thanks to my good waist, strong legs, and pleasant figure. I never really understood what she meant by that in the present times, however, I eventually came to the understanding of what she spoke of for so many years.

My mother did not know what to do with me when I was first born. Our Nurse, being the good soul that she is, responded eagerly to the request of my mother to assist in raising me. Since that day, our faithful Nurse has been with us since my very first breath outside the womb of my mother. May the Lord bless her soul.

The hands of our good Nurse did have her hands occupied even before I was born. Nurse had a husband, but sadly I do not remember vividly of him. When I had come of age where I could waddle and run, I had accidentally cut my forehead on the sharp corner of one of our tables in my room. According to our Nurse, he would scoop me up into his strong arms and say, "You will fall backward when you grow smarter, won't you, Jule'?" That was when tears would stop leaking from my eyes, and I would say "Ay." Nurse never ceases to smile contagiously when she remembers those days.  
The husband of our sweet Nurse had met his end due to a massive heart attack shortly after I had reached my first year. Nurse also had a daughter, who had reached her second year before passing on in an earthquake that had occurred while my parents where in Mantua, leaving me with our Nurse.

I had watched her with my own eyes, acting content as she would bathe me or tell me of fairytales, showing me nothing but large smiles. Inside, I knew she was not so happy.

The daughter of our Nurse was named Susan. I came to the clear assumption that the Nurse lessened her pain by raising me in the place of her own daughter; now deceased. Since we were both born at around the same time, give or take away a few days, it was really impeccable timing. She still had milk left in her breast, which, obviously, I wasn't going to allow being put to waste.  
I have a locket that once belonged to Susan, stored in one of my drawers in my dresser. A white dress with a frilly bottom, small enough to fit a porcelain doll, remains hidden in my closet. I leave it in there, and I have never touched it or moved from its original place. I find it gives our Nurse some comfort throughout the day, being able to remember the life she had introduced me to when it was my very first playtime.  
The life that used to dance and giggle in that little dress. The life she had introduced me to when it was my very first playtime.

I remember that the Nurse would take a lot of time and dedication to raising me. Even when she was tired and exhausted, she would still spend time watching me and spending time just actively observing me. She would feed me her own breast milk as an infant when I got hungry, she would rock me and sing me sweet lullabies when I would cry and grow upset, she would tend to my physical wounds when I would fall down the stairs by accident, and she would bathe me when I would disobey my parents and get my hands dirty and caked with soil after supper. What a good woman she was.

My mother never really spent time raising me. I am not close with my mother. She never really did pay much attention to me.

"I'll let the Nurse handle it," she would say, as I would shriek in response to the lukewarm water that would get into my eyes.  
"Nurse, Juliet needs to be fed!" – When I was hungry.  
"Nurse, Juliet's crying!" – When I would slam my head on the stairs when I would trip over my dress that was slightly too long.  
"Nurse!"  
"Nurse!"  
"_**NURSE**_!"  
The Nurse actually seems more of my mother than my own mother actually is. She loves me, and wants the best for me. Do not be mistaken, that is what my parents want for me, as well – but my mother and father just want to see their arrangements for me and my life come true. They just want to see a dream transform into a reality. With the Nurse, she just wants to see me happy – no matter what happens, and no matter what direction I choose to take when confronted with a decision.

We always have been a rich, upper class family. We live in a mansion. It is quite a large house, with tiled flooring made of the cleanest white marble that reflected the shimmering crystals of the chandelier that hung overhead on the main, ground floor.  
We have a grand, ballroom staircase – one that had two separate staircases, branching off from both walls and then merged in the centre – with soft, crimson red, carpet with a shiny, gold trim that snaked from one end of one staircase, climbed up each and every stair as it travelled upwards – across where the two sets of stairs connected, and then down the other set of the stairs that was all the way at the other end of the room. Every door in the Capulet household was perfectly assembled with pure, flawless wood with door handles that are made of the purest and finest gold you could ever find in Verona. Our closets are adorned with the finest clothing that cost a fortune, even for merchants who are great in business.

With being a rich Capulet, there are obviously many luxuries. We have the largest staff of serving men and maids than anybody could ever imagine. Sometimes I wonder why we have so many; when we do not even need the majority of them…

We have the largest garden that would appear as heaven to any naturalist. The Capulet garden is accompanied by blooming flowers of every kind. From roses, to daffodils, to daises, to lilacs and lilies – and many more that would take me hours upon end to list. There is a winding sidewalk that travels and twists in-between and around the garden, as well as a fountain that is several feet tall. The scene is great for evening walks. When I stand out on the balcony outside my room, it really is a gorgeous sight to see. A maze of trimmed bushes, dotted with the prettiest of flowers, with a large fountain in the middle that takes any attention when standing on my favourite place – our balcony; that awaits me every bright morning just beyond the dancing curtains draped over my window that lets the breeze through.

With being rich, and living in this much luxury, you would assume that we were one of the prime targets for thieves. But that is not true. We have a large, main gate out near the front of our house - and accompanied by our garden, are orchard walls that are ridiculously hard to climb.

"Whatever you do, Juliet, DO NOT go outside the orchard walls." My father would always warn, as my mother would give me permission to go for a walk in our garden. When I questioned him, mother would join in to support my father; "There are some really awful and nasty people out there who want to do really mean things to girls like you, Juliet."  
The heavy voice of my father would follow, "Juliet, just please, make sure you stay away from the orchard walls. Promise us you will come back inside and inform me immediately. God forbid, they could be Montagues..."  
But those typical, strict warnings were given to me when I was a lot younger. I am not reminded of that rule as often as I used to be, but it has not been forgotten, either. My parents know I am a woman now, and that I will report any case of where I see a Montague or two near our household.

I never go a day without being reminded of our loathing for the Montagues. When I was very young - young enough to still be breastfed by our lovely Nurse - my father would sometimes talk about how our family got along well with them. He never mentions it anymore, and I dare not bring it up.  
What is in the past never remains buried in the past. Our feud drags into the present, and future – like the still-standing, ancient grudge that lies between us. The hate does not just affect us alone. It also makes the once-blank and approachable faces in Verona look so irritated and angry time after time.  
The hate for the Montague name remains as the sweat on our brows. It is the grinding of our teeth, and it is the menacing glint of our swords. They despise us, as much as we despise them.

Our feud continues getting stronger and stronger as every waking moment disappears before our very eyes. It erupted brutally soon after I was born. That was when the street fights started, when a Capulet would bring a sword with them on a regular, daily stroll – ready to unsheathe it on any Montague that crossed their path. That was when the citizens began to get aggravated at the trouble, commotion, and damage we caused to the once peaceful Verona due to all the sword fighting and buckling that would start. Citizens would come out with anything they could find – pitchforks for the hay in stables, sharpened kitchen knives from the kitchen, and clubs and lit torches. Yet, they remain neutral. They dare not choose a side even if a Capulet, or a Montague, would ask them to. They are not very hard to hear when I am standing out on my balcony.

Often, the news I would hear from trusted sources nearby would often keep me wide awake at night. There have been moments where I truly have hated being a Capulet, and, _too_ often, there were times were I wish I was born to a different name… And to a different family.  
**  


* * *

**

I sighed wearily, stirring within my cold sheets as the quarrelling voices roused me from my light slumber. I sat up, swinging my legs over the side of my bed, before slowly moving out onto my balcony – listening to the voices that carried from the streets; most likely making a wife stir within her sleep beside her husband.

I rested both of my arms against the balcony rail, resting my chin upon my propped elbow, continuing to listen to the violent banter occurring between the two names that I had grown accustomed to very quickly, now being the age that I was.

"Come on then, Capulets," One voice exclaimed, "Pull out your swords! Fight like the men that you are!"

"I yield," The other responded confidently, "We shall let those who fight like _**dogs**_ make the first move!"

The withholder of the Capulet voice paused, letting his bubbling anger erupt into his voice at the insult, raising his voice to yell even louder at his long-time opponent.  
"**Dogs**? Are you backing down from a challenge?"

A second Montague, baffled by the determination to fight shown by the Capulet before him, stepped forward in the feud.  
"…_Challenge_? You were the one who bit your thumb at us, good sir!"

"So you refuse to be a man and fight then, is _that_ it!" A second Capulet joined in, the rage yet to cease.

"Ay me…" I sighed, smoothing my hair behind my ears. I was far too awake to fall back to sleep now. The breeze was very gentle this evening; dancing with the leaves in the trees as the multiple quartets of crickets sang flawlessly into the warm summer air. All was barely silent and relaxed except for the quarrelling beyond the orchard walls.  
"What does it take for Verona to get decent slumber? Has it always been this terrible?"

"Juliet? What are you doing up?"

I looked over my shoulder, smiling gently as the Nurse began approaching me, half-awake. She smiled, showing her own four teeth as she continued moving the abounding weight of her body to stand beside me in the darkness that had hid the beautiful scenery of Verona to pleased eyes of those who looked upon it.  
I repositioned, straightening myself up and smoothing out the wrinkles in my dress, ignoring the carrying voices that I had been listening to since I was merely a few years old.

"Good e'en." I whispered into the dim light of the single candle that she had brought out with her as she moved the curtain out of her way, moving her corpulent self by my side. She nodded kindly, greeting me in return with the same, before repeating her question.  
"What are you doing up, girl?" She questioned softly, smoothing the hair out of my eyes.  
"It is late. Your parents are already asleep."

My smile faltered into a disturbed frown as I sighed silently once more, eyes drifting out to the orchard walls that were cloaked within the dark night that preluded the sunny morning that had awaited us all.  
"Do you think it will ever end, Nurse?"

She nodded understandably, turning her head and gazing in the direction that I, too, was gazing.  
"I do not know," she mumbled quietly, intently concentrating on what she was speaking about, her voice drifting off as she recalled countless memories of the gruelling battles that we, being Capulets, have endured along with the Montagues until now.  
"It has been going on for almost as long as I have nursed you, dear."

I stayed silent for a moment. Nurse did not say another word after she finished. I searched for the right words, resting my cheek into the palm of my trembling hand. I began scraping my fingernail against a small fraction of ivory paint that I noticed had been peeling so suddenly on the balcony rail.  
"It is not that I like the Montagues, Nurse… I have just as much hatred towards them like any member of our House…"

Nurse turned to face me, gently removing my hand from its task of scraping at the peeling paint, as if to say "it will be fixed" without speaking. Holding my hand within her short, stubby fingers, she responded,  
"I do not think it will come to a halt anytime soon, child. Remember, hatred never sleeps. It never closes its eyes, and never changes its mind. The only way that hatred can be eliminated is if something stronger than hate itself can come between it."

"Like what?" I questioned, facing her and looking directly into her big, blue eyes. Her four teeth remerged again in a sentimental grin. She appeared to be delighted that I was taking great interest in what she was saying. She continued on.

"Where there is hate, there has to be love. It is the same as where there is war, there eventually has to be peace," she said, resting her free hand on my left shoulder. I blinked in impossibility. Surely, there was no way our brawling, that had not ceased for years and continues to still show no signs of stopping, be demolished all of a sudden.  
"War will not stop unless something comes between it, as it does not stop on its own, nor does hatred flee its chooser unless the chooser is willing to cast it away and start anew."

Surely, she had to be joking. She was speaking of the possibility of the hatred between us simmering down to a point where it would just vanish. She knew how long this had been occurring. How much we have hated each other. She knew of the brutality of the lives lost in our still-standing war. She had smelled the strong stench of blood that wafted through the streets… And now she was thinking of the chance that it would all come to an end?

_Oh, Nurse… I wish you could see all of this like I do…_

"…But how do you know-"

I jumped, my heart leaping as a battle cry pierced through the calm feeling of tonight. I grabbed my chest, trying to catch my breath as I tried regaining my composure from the feeling of sudden fright that had made my heart leap. Clashing of steel – polished and sharpened swords – followed that scream, confident laughter and taunting coming after each aligning and crashing of steel. Nurse grabbed me tightly for reassurance that I was merely startled.

After catching my breath slowly, I turned to her.  
"Do you think I should inform my father?"

Nurse laughed wholeheartedly, waggling her index finger at me, eyes glistening. She raised her candle, giving her enough light to see and grasp my wrist gently, slowly beginning to lead me back into my chamber.  
"You know what will happen if you do that, will you not, Jule'? Your father will spring right up from his bed and order for his men to fetch him his horse. Then he will holler for your mother to bring him his sword…" Her voice drifted off. Or maybe I was the one who was not paying attention any longer. I looked over my shoulder, a shaken groan of immense pain and mocking laughter distantly reaching my ears.

"But-" I protested, yet choosing not to struggle from her grasp. I did not remove my sight from my balcony.

"Hush, girl. Come. The battle has already just begun this very night, and you need you rest," She whispered gently, fixing the sheets to my bed that I had kicked off my person just only moments ago.  
"You have a very big day tomorrow."

I sighed, crawling into bed, pulling the sheets back onto me as I turned over onto my side, beginning to watch her leave. She blew out the candle and left it by my bedside as I snuggled into the warmth that was just now beginning to rediscover my body.  
"I suppose… Goodnight, Nurse…" I smiled, and she nodded, replying softly with a "Goodnight, Juliet" before shutting the door behind her and leaving my chamber.

I turned over onto my back, staring at the ceiling as another scream made me shift uncomfortably and made me wince in discomfort. I gripped the sheets tightly. Then, there was laughter as the man fell, jeering at how weak he had fought against his opponents. A final clang of steel – the drop of a sword in surrender – was the final thing that disturbed the silence in the night air before the clicking of hoofsteps. The Montagues had mounted their horses. A clap of thunder smacked the still air. Raindrops began to fall.  
With a final chorus of laughter, the first Montague that had spoke previously was the last to speak.

"Let this be a lesson to you, Capulets! Choose your opponents wisely! We spared you your lives tonight, dogs!" He spat, before departing with the other two men behind him, or at least that was what I had thought in response to the multiple whinnies and clatter of hoofsteps against the stone streets. Victorious shouts grew distant.  
I blinked, my heart pounding against my chest heavily like a drum.

Perhaps Nurse was correct.

Perhaps… Hatred never _did_ sleep…


	3. Two: Disconsolance

**For I Have Sinned**  
[_Juliet's Point Of View_]  
[Based On _Romeo & Juliet_]

Written By _Emily G. Fieldus_

* * *

**_Two ~ II_**  
-:- ~ _Disconsolance_ ~ -:-

"_Desperate, I will crawl,  
Waiting for so long;  
No love, there is no love_…"  
– **_Diary of Jane _**-:- _Breaking Benjamin_

* * *

((( - _Based on_ **_Act I, Scene I _**- )))

Romeo Montague, son of the Montague household, trudged sadly along one of the quiet streets in Verona late that afternoon. He hung his head as he put one foot in front of the other, hands by his side. Unlike some individuals who have had a horrid day, or who have not a clue about why they are in a state of misery, Romeo knew wholeheartedly why his pride had been beaten and stabbed by a two-edged sword.

Benvolio, the nephew of Montague, on the other hand, had an attitude about life of trying to keep his head up and look towards the sun in the sky - or the stars, depending on the time of day. As he spotted his cousin gloomily gazing at the ground, he lead his horse into a strong canter, before tugging sharply on the reins and slowing his horse to a stop as soon as he caught up to his relative. Romeo did not even turn his head to acknowledge him.

"Good morrow, cousin!" Benvolio exclaimed enthusiastically as he dragged his other leg off the opposite side of his steed, before dropping onto the ground. He grinned at his cousin. Romeo only raised his head ever so slightly just to look him in the eye. Benvolio always had been quite the early riser - that, he was absolutely sure of.

The Montague son then raised his head higher to glance quickly at the yellow orb in the sky and the moving clouds that were sluggishly moving, matching the pace of a slug in the intense heat of the afternoon.  
"Is it that early in the day?" He questioned softly, squinting at the blinding rays of the sun.

Benvolio frowned, "It's only just now nine o'clock."

Nine o' clock was not as early as Romeo thought. Benvolio was still an early riser, nonetheless.

"Ay me," his cousin sighed, flattened. He continued to walk, not paying any heed to Benvolio who was gathering the reigns of his horse to bring the animal along.  
"Time goes by slow when you are sad." He mumbled to himself, before looking over his shoulder to see his member in cousinhood coming up beside him – remembering the question that etched into his mind even before Benvolio had even noticed him.  
"Was that my father who left in such a hurry?"

"It was," Benvolio answered, before leading his cousin back to the previous subject about why he had come. Lord Montague had inquired to Benvolio that his son was acting unusual lately, and he had volunteered to decipher exactly what the problem was with his relative.  
"What is making you so sad and your hours so long?"

"I do not have the thing that makes time fly," Romeo answered, brushing his hands sadly against his tights. Benvolio raised an eyebrow in response to how his defeated family member answered him. It was almost a fact that Romeo had gotten so used to his sadness that he answered so calmly. It almost seemed to the Montague nephew that he barely showed any emotion at all. But Benvolio knew his assumptions about Romeo were incorrect, as he knew that his cousin seemed to be a very passionate man.

"You are in love?" Benvolio questioned, being careful not to assume. By the look set on the face of Romeo, he was correct. Now that Romeo was actually raising his head to look at him, he discovered that his cousin was in a much worse state than Lord and Lady Montague thought.  
He looked weary; eyes obviously tired from dreams of which woke him late in his slumber. He rarely ever was woken by such dreams, Benvolio thought, but it still was not an impossibility. It had to be whatever was on his mind lately – obviously, being this… Present issue that was bothering him to such an extent that he would not even draw his weapon even if death was right before his very eyes.  
His posture showed no confidence like a strong man bearing a sword would, as he was slouching carelessly, shoulders hunched over. The man of cousinship looked like his cheeks had not lifted in days with the grin that brought them to life. It had been a while, a good while, since he last wore a smile… Or even make the slightest effort to. If only Benvolio could make him laugh again…

"Out," Romeo answered calmly. The mind of Benvolio snapped back to reality.

"Out of love?" He asked, furrowing his brow in confusion. He did not understand how Romeo was trying to answer.

"I love someone," Romeo explained sadly, eyes beginning to grow wet with tears that he had wept over this issue many times before. "She does not love me."

Ah! So he was heartbroken. Benvolio thought. Or lovesick…

"It is sad. Love looks like a nice thing, but it is actually very rough when you experience it." Benvolio said, placing a hand upon his cousin's shoulder. Romeo knew all about love, and how rough it could be.

"What is sad is that love is supposed to be blind, but it can still make you do whatever it wants," Romeo muttered. Benvolio nodded, before the eyes of his cousin lit up brightly as he placed his hand upon his back.  
"So, where shall we dine?" He laughed, seeming to forget about his prolonged sadness that had been haunting him for days and his hours of sleep at night. As they took a few steps, the relieved feelings of Benvolio suddenly vanished as Romeo had noticed something on the street – faded, aged, and something he was not surprised to see.

"O me!"

Benvolio blinked, before he lowered his head to glance at what suddenly stole the attention of the Montague man.  
Indeed, a familiar sight of forcefully drawn blood had stained the street, which made him recall the challenge that he had been involved in just earlier this morrow. Moreso, he remembered his opponents of the Capulet household – Tybalt, being the one he remembered clearly. The other two appeared to be servingmen, or so he still assumed.  
The nephew of the Capulet house was always ready for a battle. Benvolio figured that he would not be surprised if he discovered that Tybalt slept with his rapier by his side each evening.

"What fray happened here?" Romeo questioned. Benvolio opened his mouth to answer that it had occurred just earlier this morning, but he did not get a word out. His cousin had interrupted him.

"Nay, do not tell me… I know all about it. This fight has a lot to do with hatred, but it has more to do with love… Love is heavy and light, bright and dark, hot and cold, sick and healthy, asleep and awake – it is still-waking sleep, everything except what it is! This is the love I feel, though no one loves me back…"

The eyes of Benvolio Montague began to burn at the state of the misery that had swallowed the pride and joy of his cousin. Lovesickness made those things disappear, he supposed – and when lovesickness grew intense enough, it drove grown men mad. The woman that a man had been infatuated with would haunt his dreams until he would wake up in a sweat, and there was no turning back once a man fell. There was no thinking of something else other than a woman for a love drunk man.

_…Just like Romeo._

"Are you laughing?" Romeo questioned, seeming offended by the slight sobbing Benvolio was making in response to his aching heart that longed to help him.

Benvolio sniffed, wiping his eyes as the tears began to leak softly from his eyes.  
"Nay, cousin, I am crying."

"Good heart, at what?" Romeo asked innocently, unaware that the tears Benvolio was weeping were in response to his desperation for the love of this woman.

"I am crying because of how sad you are."

"Yes, this is what love does. My sadness sits heavy in my chest, and you want to add your own sadness it so there is even more. I have too much sadness already, and now you are going to make me sadder by feeling sorry for you."

Benvolio pursed his lips. Indeed, his previous thoughts was correct. Romeo was being driven crazy by his obsession of this woman! Cast his own sadness upon him while he was already in misery? That was not the case at all!

"…Farewell, my coz."

Benvolio raised his brow. While in his own thoughts of how mad Romeo was becoming every tender moment, he had entirely missed the other fraction of what Romeo was saying. Surely his lips were moving…

"Wait," Benvolio called, following after his cousin who continued his depressive state of mind that showed through the fading strength in his legs.  
"If you leave me like this, you are doing me wrong."

"I am not myself. I am not here. This is not Romeo – he is some other where." - The poor fellow had been too exhausted with doting his desires upon this fair woman that he did not think, or even dream, of anything else… And now it was beginning to drive him slowly into a swallowing pit on madness and insanity that, soon, nobody would be able to pull him out of.

…The exception obviously being that one woman, of course.

"Tell me seriously, who is it that you love?" Benvolio asked, feeling like a fool for not asking the question earlier. Although he still had the strong intention and desire to do everything within his own power to remove this woman from the enraptured mind before him, he knew it would not hurt – as a matter of fact, it would most likely benefit him – to ask.

"What, you mean I should groan and tell you?"

"Groan?" Benvolio placed his head to one side in perplexity, before he began a wholehearted chuckle from deep within his throat.  
"Why, nay! …But tell me seriously who it is."

"You would not tell a sick man he 'seriously' has to make his will… It would just make him worse." Romeo sighed, his obvious depression still lingering. Benvolio had no knowledge of what Romeo was referring to. If it was just a general statement, or if the feelings of this woman were not the same he held for her and it was driving him downhill, to a point where he felt as if being stabbed repeatedly by the sharpest sword would not amount to such emotional pain of this heavy-hearted man. Rejection was certainly a possibility that touched many hearts, Benvolio knew, and furthermore, Romeo was not invincible to such a feeling.  
"Seriously, cousin, I love a woman."

"I guessed that already when I guessed you were in love."

"Then you were right on target… The woman I love is beautiful."

Benvolio nodded in understanding. A man enraptured by the sublimity of a woman would obviously speak the same words that flowed from Romeo's tongue. He could swear that he could see a soft glint in the eyes in response to the ravishing obsession that was yet to flee from the Montague.  
"A beautiful target is the one that gets hit the fastest," he commented.

"Well, you are not on target there…" – The glint fled as soon as the intense feeling of dejection came near, and his voice now sounded flattened and crestfallen. His shoulders sagged at what he had spoken.

"Oh, am I not?"

"She refuses to be hit by the arrow of Cupid. She is as clever as Diana, and shielded by the armor of chastity. She cannot be touched by the weak and childish arrows of love. She will not listen to words of love, or let you look at her with loving eyes, or open her lap to receive gifts of gold… She is rich in beauty, but also poor, because when she dies her beauty will be destroyed with her."

Benvolio nodded slowly as Romeo was had finally grown comfortable enough to tell the other Montague what was on his mind lately. As he listened to him explain the crazed viewpoints of this woman, he came to one conclusion, but not wanting to be incorrect, he asked him;  
"So she has made a vow to be a virgin forever?"

"Yes she has," Romeo lamented, "and be keeping celibate, she wastes her beauty. She is too beautiful and too wise to deserve the blessing of heaven by making me despair. She had sworn off of love, and that promise had left me but dead, living only to talk about it now."

Then it clicked…

"Take my advice. Do not think about her." Benvolio suggested, feeling rather proud of his recommendation, until the expression of Romeo gave him the implication that he had stated something that made him sound mad in regards to the passion of the lone lover that stood before him.

"Teach me to forget to think!" – That was when the despair of Romeo Montague completely shattered his face as he began a sobbing that broke any man with a sense of understanding. Bitter tears began cascading from his sore, weary eyes. The beauty of this woman was too much for him, and when he discovered she would not be sharing it, its fearsome claws completely ripped him to shreds.

"Do it by letting your eyes wander freely. Look at other beautiful girls."

"That will only make me think more about how beautiful _she_ is," Romeo cried, tears still remaining upon his reddened cheeks as he grabbed his cousin by his broad shoulders and shook him as he wailed and whimpered in his own desperation.  
"A man who goes blind is like a note telling me where I can see someone even more beautiful!" The shaking stopped. Benvolio said nothing and blinked. Romeo released his grip, and sniffed forlornly. Another tear rolled down his weakened face and dripped off his chin. Silence enveloped them like an invisible cloak as neither said a word.

Romeo turned his back to his cousin, before whispering just loud enough for Benvolio to hear.  
"Goodbye. You cannot teach me how to forget."

The mouth of the other Montague dropped as Romeo slowly continued to walk down the street. What could he do to-

Benvolio smiled to himself, before grasping the hilt to his sword with anticipated fingers.  
"I will show you how to forget, or else I will die owing you that lesson…" He whispered softly to himself, before slowly drawing his sword for the second time this morrow. Romeo came to a halt, as the familiar sound of steel being unleashed reached his ears. He turned around slowly.

"Come on then, cousin!" Benvolio exclaimed proudly, thrusting his sword out towards him, examining the tender glint that the tip of the sword smiled towards the face of the Montague before him.  
"Draw!"

Romeo blinked. Benvolio still held his ground, determination flaming within his veins. He would make him forget!

"Come on, then! Draw, I say! A little bit of swordplay and banter will make you forget! At least for a time!" He grinned, slowly walking over to him, and jabbing him lightly with the tip of his sword with barely enough pressure to even draw blood, much less tear his clothing. Romeo did not move. Benvolio jabbed him again, eyebrows raised in confidence.

"Come on, then!" He dared, eyes shimmering. Romeo quickly drew his sword, frowning at the sight of his weapon. Benvolio laughed wholeheartedly, bouncing steadily upon his feet, ready for the relieving feel of heavy swords clashing and the sound of steel scraping against one another. Perhaps he had helped his cousin find himself again!

The sound of hollow clattering upon ground made his spirits flee.

_Or maybe not…_ Benvolio thought in great disappointment and failure as he glanced down. The weapon belonging to Romeo Montague lay at his feet. He raised his head, looking Romeo in the face. The brow of his cousin was furrowed in a slight feeling of rage and misunderstanding from his point of view.  
"You cannot make me forget," Romeo mumbled, staring at the weapon he had dropped so carelessly.  
"Love makes you remember, dear coz, not forget… Until you can find me someone even more beautiful than the woman I love…" He stared into the eyes of Benvolio Montague, the one man who had been trying to convince him that this would all soon come to pass, but to no avail.

"I will never be Romeo. I will never find myself again."

The throat of Benvolio began to burn. He swallowed hard as his cousin gave a slight, silent nod, before he turned and began walking away in the opposite direction.  
Baffled by his words, the Montague nephew shook his head furiously before quickly grabbing the sword at his feet. His chest heaved as he quickly mounted his horse, sending it into a swift gallop, focusing on the final words that his relative had spoken as he surrendered his weapon.

But Benvolio knew his cousin was wrong. The 'real' Romeo was somewhere out there, surely. All it would take was a woman, a much more beautiful maiden, to reunite him with himself.

His eyes stung with bitter tears as the dreadful prologue to failure loomed over him, before slamming hard into his battle-scarred chest. Deep inside, it was brewing feelings of hopelessness for his friend.

Somewhere, he was thinking Romeo was not going to return.

The thought made his heart drop.

* * *

Authoress' Info For The Reader And Even The Shakespearean Scholar:

1) Romeo's multiple monologues in this following scene have been cut short for convenience purposes – or, a line or two have been cut out of them. This makes it somewhat easier for me to write.  
2) Act I, Scene I, in Romeo & Juliet itself, ends at Benvolio's line: "I'll show you how to forget, or else I'll die owing you that lesson." I added in the rest at the end, not only because I couldn't find a very fitting ending (in my opinion), but to also end off on a good, dramatic ending.


	4. Three: Arrangement

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**For I Have Sinned**  
[_Juliet's Point Of View_]  
[Based On _Romeo & Juliet_]

Written By _Emily G. Fieldus_

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**_Three ~ III_**  
-:- ~ **Arrangement **~ -:-

"If it's mine to give, it's gone;  
Lost or left somewhere along the way…"  
**_- Marriage _**-:- _Attack in Black_

* * *

I sighed exhaustively, standing in front of the full-body mirror that had watched me grow and observe my body naturally form their curves throughout the short days of hearing the distant voices of Verona gossiping and seeing the smiling roses down below in their respectable place in our vast garden with a rainbow array of shades and colours. Then there were the nights, the dark ones where Nurse would rise from her sleep because of the noises I made as a result of fright in reaction to the yelping of steel and harsh curses that should not be bestowed upon the ears of a woman.

It was a few hours past morrow, and only mere days before our very eccentric and elaborate Capulet feast. Nurse had awakened me, informing me that somebody had come in search of me. I knew that it certainly was no handsome suitor. Father always began to sweat if even the word marriage was looked upon. Father is indeed a strong man, with a short temper – however, when it comes to the future of his daughter, it made him weak.

But, like I previously stated, no man had come to see me. It was Rosaline, my father's cherished niece. She had come to deliver great news, and I was yet to hear it. My patience was never worn, however, as Nurse brought me up well and has the same amount of patience as Saint Monica.

Yet, there I stood, with Rosaline's slender fingers curving flawlessly as they wrapped themselves over my shoulders as she gazed at my reflection as well. I could feel a heavy blush rising to my cheeks as she gazed at me with those cerulean blue eyes of hers; the eyes that could entrance any man she desired. Her figure was perfect in every way, and she even was in possession of hips that matched the size of an impregnated soon-to-be mother. Her skin matched the tone of fresh, smoothened cream and her lips were full. Even I confirmed within my mind that she was indeed, most fair. Rosaline was one of the most beautiful women I had ever let my eyes look upon.

"Do you think I should wear something more… Suitable for the feast?" She questioned herself, her lips pursing in thought as she stood beside me, resting her hands upon her wide hips as I frowned at my reflection. Standing beside my dear cousin made me feel like the beauty that I was in possession of was something unacceptable for any man's sight to behold.

Shaking my head slowly, I asked her. "However do you mean? You do know that we cannot wear whatever we please!"  
It was never rare in our culture for us to wear clothing based on our position and social status in the city of Verona. Mother always taught me the importance of being a woman, while Nurse looked after my personal wellbeing as the only rich daughter of the Capulet house. Mother always said that since I belonged to a rich family, I would always find myself adorned in corsets that fit my shape perfectly and dark gowns.

"I know Jule'," she said, smiling at me with those lips that would be plenteous to any man who would be daring enough to touch hers with their own.  
"I hope I get to wear blue this year. I had to wear purple for the last feast, and it looked absolutely horrendous!"

I smiled, recalling the memory of the dress she wore that matched the colour of the lilacs that were always in full bloom during this time of year in our garden in our vast garden.  
"I do remember." At this, she frowned. I decided against bringing up my thoughts back then that I never expressed. I thought the colour she wore last year brought out the tone of her skin exceptionally well.

"It didn't match my eyes." She muttered, pouting as I withdrew from the reflective glass and sat on my bed. She turned and looked at me with entrancing sapphires that showed both innocence and purity, that would make any man instantly lost whilst on their journey to a given destination.

I decided to change the subject. I wished she had not brought upon such harsh words against herself.  
"Any new suitors, as of late?" I inquired, knowing that she always had at least a pair of eyes remembering her unlimited beauty.

"One," she said with a victorious smile. She was the queen of shattered hearts; ones that suffered of unrequited love and wept at their bedsides as a realization that the saint they once gazed upon would never belong in their arms.

A smirked played with my lips as I smoothed out my gown.  
"Is he a Montague?"

__________________

"**_Jule'_**!"

I laughed softly, as her eyes let off an angry glare, before her face settled back into its natural state of normality. I do suppose she was not expecting me to utter the name in a manner of jest.  
"If you must know, Juliet… It was a Montague."

My laughter paused, halting in response to how serious she was being.  
"…Pardon, Rose'?"

"I let him know immediately. I informed him that I do not plan on giving my virginity to any man – especially a Montague." She explained, sitting herself down beside me as I kept my ears open. She continued on, "He left with tears of bitterness on his face."  
She then stared at me with a smile, "I think you would've liked it, Jule'."

"That's preposterous!" I snapped, taken by both surprise and anger at the very statement.

"You would've liked the way he expressed his admiration. It was very poetic."

"Rose, you're being very rash! Do you believe I would fall in love with a Montague?"

"He's not much older than you, you know. The Montague son."

I opened my mouth to put a halt to her current brashness, but I was interrupted by a loud whispering that emerged through the polished wood of the door leading to my chamber. I looked to Rose in surprise, and to no expectancy, she was giving me the same glance in return.

* * *

((( - Based on **Act I, Scene ii **- )))

"But Montague has sworn an oath just like I have, and he is under the same penalty. I do not think it will be hard for men as old as we are to keep the peace…"

"Can you hear anything?"

"Ay!"

With my back pressed against the door to my chamber, Rose stood above me, trying to hear as best as she could through the wooden door that led to my chamber. In the most uncomfortable of positions, I rested my head against the door, shushing her as she struggled to get closer to listen to the voices that were withholding a conversation in the main fragment of the Capulet mansion.

"Jule', stop moving!"

"Rose, I shall stop moving when you… Shhh!"  
I creaked the door open slightly, leaving us both cringing at its sharp cry. I looked through the new gap in my door, trying my absolute hardest to locate where the voices were coming from. There he was – my father was standing in front of a man who was giving his undivided concentration of his eyes and the attention of his ears in return to the conversation that they were holding with one another – majorly being lead by my father himself, whose face had grown bright red for reasons that I do not young gentleman before him, tall and lean, held himself high with an excessive amount of pride. He had adorned himself greatly in rich clothing before his arrival, obviously stating without a word that he had a great position and settled his feet upon one of the highest rungs of the social ladder in Verona, Italy.

"You both have honourable reputations, and it is too bad you have been enemies for so long…" The man responded quietly, the smile on his face growing wider due to the amount of confidence within his own mind and the determination within his own pumping heart.  
"But what do you say to my request?"

"Request?" I whispered to myself.

The face of my father became red again, a deep colour that flared against his cheeks and dared to close his throat in anxiety if it was brought up again. The man before him waited anxiously for a response, tilting his head at the sight of the burning cheeks of the my father.  
"Well? What say you?"

"I can only repeat what I have said before. My daughter is still very young; she is not even fourteen years old. Let us wait two more summers before we start thinking she is ready to be wed."

I began to feel my throat close and my eyes burn as the conversation between this man and my father ended. I cannot tell you why I was reacting that way, since many girls in Verona had been, and still are, married at my age. Marriage at such an age was a very common thing, but yet, it still sent chilly fingers tickling up my spine. For the past few moments, I had listened to my father speak to this suitor, and I had slowly gathered hints at the subject of their conversation that was being shared between them.

To my great assumption, I was going to become a bride.

"Girls younger than she often marry and become happy mothers." he retaliated proudly, his answers coming across as one of knowledge; and knowledgeable he was, indeed.

At that statement, the throat of my father began to close at the very thought of his own prized daughter becoming a mother. His eyes burned in slight embarrassment as my suitor stared at him, taking in his reaction that consisted of rosy cheeks and eyes that were beginning to widen.  
"Girls who marry so young grow up too soon…" He said, pausing in thought as he began to relax and as his state of mind began to flee, he said,  
"But go ahead and charm her, gentle Paris; make her love you. My permission is only part of her decision. If she agrees to marry you, my blessing and fair words will confirm her choice. You will be delighted by young women as fresh as spring flowers. Look at anyone you like, and choose whatever woman seems best to you. Once you see a lot of girls, you might not think my daughter is the best anymore."

Relief did not swallow me whole like I expected it to. It was surely possible, to the point where it was almost guaranteed, that he would find another maiden to his liking. However, I did not hold myself to the promise. I made the most effort to try and locate the man that was requesting to court me; however, he was walking in the direction of another room as my father muttered something about 'going left', so I was only able to get the glimpse of his height and weight. Slender and tall, I grasped, as I closed to the door slowly, my eyes wide in astonishment at this grand spectacle of news. I said not a word.

Rosaline, who had been accompanying me in this most unladylike of acts, had been listening as well just as much as I had been. I turned, gazing up at her in surprise. I was greeted by a pair of beautiful eyes that possessed enriching excitement as she withdrew from my door, wrapping a delicate arm around my lower back as she slowly led me away. I kept my eyes on the marble floor beneath my feet. I thought the room was beginning to spin as my head began to reel, like that of a child who had just finished her ride on the most magnificent of carousels.

"Did you hear all that, Jule? This is so exciting!" She said excitedly with a spring in her step, as the words of my father continued to make a weight emerge on my shoulders and my breathing thicken.

_…Gentle Paris._

_…Paris? Ay, that was his name. _

_…Make her… **Love** you…_

My cheeks began to grow hot at the astounding thought. I had never taken much thought to the matter. Love, that is. Marriage, too, had hardly ever crossed paths with my mind. My hands folded as beads of sweat began slithering down the crook of my neck. My heart raced. My face must have gone white, for I could feel it. My chest tightened as my chest began rising and falling more visibly.

_"Ay, Rose." I responded absentmindedly, as she assisted me with sitting on the bed, as and my mind began distancing itself from reality.  
All I could even think about was a wedding gown with a veil that blinded my vision in a transparent white, the Priest's words, exchanged vows, and a pair of soft lips that, upon being introduced to my own, would remove my name and introduce me to a position of being both a wife and the bearer of many children._

* * *

_Authoress' Info For The Reader And Even The Shakespearian Scholar:_

_1) After Capulet says the line that ends with "confirm her choice", he begins talking to Paris about the feast in the actual play. I decided to cut that out because I plan out for one more chapter to be written before the feast actually begins, and I didn't want assumptions occurring that the "feast would be in the next chapter"._

_2) "Nurse brought me up well and has the same amount of patience as Saint Monica…"  
Saint Monica, according to my online sources, is described as being the "saint of patience" in the Catholic faith._

_3) Finally, I would like to apologize for the excessive delay in this project. This chapter never settled with me, whatever I did to it and however times I fixed it, re-wrote it, went to edit it, whatever. I can ensure you that this will not happen again. I also decided to shorten the chapter length because a lot had occurred, and making it longer would just ruin the feel of it._

4) The last two paragraphs are being stupid and won't settle for being unitalicized. So just ignore it. I've done everything to fix it and nothing works.


End file.
